


Falling again

by Higgystar



Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:54:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29487849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Higgystar/pseuds/Higgystar
Summary: Bdubs keeps having nightmares about falling over and over, reliving the terror of respawning in the atmosphere to fall to his death again and again. The only solution he can think of is to stop sleeping entirely.This really doesn't help anybody.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 107





	Falling again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mayflowers07](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayflowers07/gifts).



> First time writing in 4 years, first time writing for the hermitcraft fandom. It was intended to be just a little toe dip into the water and ended up 10k words. Hope you enjoy, comments are appreciated, as are kudos. I've got more pieces in the works for this fandom so I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Massive thank you to mayflowers07 who really inspired me with their 'I can be the one you call' series, and really got me to try writing again after 4 years. This is for you. 
> 
> TWD readers: I'm sorry but this is where my inspiration is for the moment.

He’s falling. Again.

Wind rushes past him, the air is too thin to take a full breath, and there is nothing to feel as he falls. Again and again and again. No sensations to cling on to, nothing to touch, nothing to grab, nothing to feel as his body is dragged closer and closer to its demise. Just the sound of falling, the knowledge that death is coming with a sudden stop, and then it will begin happening all over again.

The worst part is the knowing. It will end, but it will not end well. He will fall, he will hit the ground too hard, and then he will fall again. And there is no stop to the continuous cycle he’s trapped in. How long has it been? He has no idea, but he wishes for something to change.

It’s maddening. The lack of everything. He can’t really see because what is there to see? Blurs of colour, wisps of cloud, sometimes the blackness of night, and then a rush of too much too fast and blackness before it begins again. There is nothing to touch. Nothing to hold onto, nothing to grab, only himself, and that’s just not enough. The wind rushes past him, fleeting, nothing tangible, only a sensation of slight pressure before it’s gone again, unable to be grabbed. No matter how many times he spreads his fingers and tries to grab the air around him, tries to feel something, anything again, it never works. The elements slip between his grasp, leaving him feeling so alone, so weak, so completely unable to even feel anything other than falling.

The fear is real, because it’s always real every time. Even if it’s been hundreds, maybe thousands of times now, it’s still terrifying to know it’s coming. Nothing around himself but air, no breath to catch, no ability to even cry out for help because he just can’t get his lungs to function anymore. He can’t feel anything but terror and fear when he’s falling, everything else is numb, physical sensations mean nothing because his instinct is working overtime to make him panic and want to save himself even though logically he knows the routine by now.

Fall. Hit. Respawn. Fall.

It’s coming closer now, colours, terrain, life, trees, builds, death. He wishes he could stop. Logic tells him he’s done this before, and he shouldn’t be afraid. But everything else tells him to try and stop it, to panic, flight or fight and find some way out. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears, loud and fast and full of terror as he falls closer and closer. Thick air floods his lungs, making him pant, gasp and wheeze, final attempts to make his body prepare for the onslaught of death that is coming. Closer and closer with each passing second. Countdowns never work. It always comes sooner than he thinks.

Stupidly he reaches out for the ground, hoping, maybe praying for something, a pressure, a sensation, to feel something other than nothing but air, to maybe remember what it’s like to feel ground and grass and something real and tangible and-

Bdubs wakes when he hits the floor of his bedroom. Gasping for air that should be too thin to help but isn’t as he blinks through the fog of another nightmare. Blinking in the dim light he tries to ground himself, trying to shake free the remains of the nightmares and instead focus on the here and now.

But every time it hurts, he can’t breathe, he can’t feel, and for seconds after waking up he’s still falling, falling, falling again and it’s all too much. Lying on the floor helps when he tries to catch his breath, because it’s real and here and he can feel it beneath his body, adding pressure in all the right places and he can’t be falling if he can feel it. Reaching up he weaves his fingers through his hair, focusing on breathing, trying to work past the knot of terror still caught in his chest. He’s shaking.

Just a dream. He can feel the ground beneath his body; the wooden planks of his house he built himself surround him, real and tangible when he places a palm on the floor. Lying on the floor he takes another breath, thick, real air sweeping into his lungs and not leaving him breathless. Just a dream. The dim light of the lanterns show his home, real items he can see, no blur of colours, nothing whizzing by him too fast to guess what it is, it’s all real and here and made by himself.

The knot inside his stomach slowly begins to unfurl, leaving Bdubs feeling more exhausted than he was before he’d even gone to bed. He doesn’t move for a while, just sprawled on the floor where he’d fallen, letting his body revel in the sensations of pressure and the reality of touch being real again. Staring at the ceiling he isn’t really sure what to do anymore.

The nightmares of falling keep happening. Seemingly every single time he dares to attempt sleep they come, ripping him out of slumber and leaving him scared, tired, and fearful of even attempting to sleep anymore that night. The memories of falling still haunt him, and now his stupid mind keeps replaying those awful moments every night when he’s supposed to be resting peacefully. A shudder runs through him, and Bdubs wraps his arms about himself to try and stave it off.

It’s not fair. He loves sleep! All the hermits know he’s one to keep to a schedule, down as soon as the sun sets and up with the sun when it rises, ready to be productive, ready to start the day right. And if it means he doesn’t even get a glimpse of the mobs that spawn during the hours of darkness, well that’s just a bonus really. And now all of that restful sleep he’s used to getting has been ripped away from him by his own stupid brain.

Getting up from the floor he sighs to himself, knowing that he’s not going to be getting any more rest tonight. The clock tells him it’s only been a few hours of rest, nowhere near what he knows he needs, but he knows it’s all he’s going to get. There’s no point attempting to sleep again, because it will only happen again and again and again and he really just doesn’t have the energy to fall anymore.

But it’s fine. He’s fine. It’s just a stupid nightmare. Nothing to worry about at all.

Taking out some shulker boxes Bdubs decides what he needs is to just focus on something else. Okay so maybe he’s not going to be getting any more sleep, but that doesn’t mean he can’t get some work done. Besides hard work is a great distraction, and if he’s focussing on his builds then he definitely won’t be thinking about how he’s already a little worried about trying to sleep the next night in case it happens again.

No. No no. No thinking about that. Work. He needs to think about work.

Building is good. He loves building. Building means working out plans, gathering resources and letting all your energy go into the grind to get perfection. He can focus on that for sure. Because building also means dirty hands, heavy blocks, dust in the air, and the smell of construction. It’s all so real. So definite. He can feel the blocks he places, test their weight, scrape his fingers over the grooves in the chiselled blocks and know they’re real. Sometimes he’s grateful when a block is heavy, when he has to really strain to place it, because it makes his muscles burn, make him huff out a breath and know it’s real. Concrete powder is in his hair, it makes him cough and he never thought he’d be grateful for that sensation.

Before he even knows it the sun is up, way up, practically halfway through the day and he’s doing fine! The castle is looking great! All he has to do is get working on the mountain and really that’s a bit of a grind but what a great project for distraction! Nothing like getting dirt under your fingernails to really feel like you’re working hard. Really it’s pleasant. He likes it. He likes the smell of earth around him, the feel of grass between his fingers, the knowledge that he’s not only making buildings, but he’s making mountains! No auto-generated terrain for Bdubs, oh no he’s got a plan!

And if the sun is setting, it doesn’t really matter because he’s lit the place up enough to be safe. And besides, one all nighter never hurt anybody. He’d just get some sleep later.

Not a problem. Now he could really work on getting everything just where he wanted. He loves working with stone. It’s always so adaptable. Some would say boring but no, not to him, it’s versatile! Can be a path, can be a wall, can be details, can be anything you want and he loves it! Bdubs hums to himself as he places a path down, working his way up and up and up the mountain, leading all the way to the entrance of the castle. It’s starting to really look impressive, he’s proud of that. And maybe he’s kind of working on getting that ‘mega base’ status Grian’s been holding over his head.

But really in order to do that he needs to keep working. Chewing on his lip he contemplates the bed sitting inside his base as he works. The day has moved on, and now the second night is beginning to draw in. He’s been working so hard he’s barely even noticed the time go by. And he knew really one all nighter was enough for himself.

Sighing a little he trudges down the castle pathway and back to his base house in his village, tools and materials still scattered about in shulkers, showing just how much there still is to do. It’s fine, he can just get some rest tonight, and then in the morning he’d be all refreshed and ready to tackle even more work. It’s good to have a plan.

The bed looks so inviting. Yet Bdubs finds himself shuffling from foot to foot before it. He’s not scared, that would be ridiculous to be scared of a bed. It’s just not exactly high on his list of priorities to have another nightmare. He shudders at the thought of being surrounded by nothing again, to have no sensations to feel, nothing to breathe, nothing to hold on to if he fell again. But it’s not real. It’s just a nightmare. Nothing to be afraid of.

Glancing at his fingers he rubs them together, feeling the dirt that stains them, the earthy smell of life and the richness of the world that marks him. He feels better when he can feel something tangible, when there is proof he’s not just floating through a sea of blankness to his death. The bed looks open; a wide expanse of nothingness surrounds it, the open air of his room doing nothing to calm his nerves. Usually it’s not a problem, but tonight…

Ripping off the blankets and the pillows he tries not to think how ridiculous he must look as he drops to the floor and drags them and himself under the bed. It’s tight, it’s dark enough that he grabs a lantern as well, but it’s close. No matter which way he shifts there is something pressing against him. The floor against his tummy, the pillow held to his chest, the wall against his side, the bed frame against his back. It’s tight and small, it’s really not somewhere he should be able to fit, it’s pathetic and silly, and really he’s a full-grown man…

But he can breathe.

There is pressure surrounding him. But it’s not closing in; it’s just there. Giving him support, letting him know he’s safe, he can feel it. The floor is the best part, can’t fall to the ground if you’re already on it. God he’s so smart. He doubts anyone else would be smart enough to outwit their own fears. When he breathes out the warm air has nowhere to go, he can feel it against the pillow in his arms and reflect back to his face, letting him feel how real it is.

Yawning to himself he knows this really is silly. Hiding under his bed away from the monsters in his mind. But it’s working. The knot of fear in his belly has dissipated, he feels calmer, and the tension in his muscles leaves enough to let him fully relax. A full two days of work has left him sore and he knows he needs to rest, needs to reset his body and mind so he can succeed tomorrow. The pressure from the floor beneath him helps, as does the feeling of being squished on all sides, and before he knows it he’s drifting off to sleep.

Only to fall. Again.

Nothing surrounds him. Air. Sky. Silence. He can’t even scream or cry out, there isn’t enough air to breathe and he’s just falling again, the ground rushing up and up, reaching for him, nothing to stop him, nothing to feel or save him and-

Bdubs hits his head on the underside of the bed when he jerks awake this time. It hurts, but in his frantic panic it’s a good hurt. At least he can feel the bump growing beneath his bandana, can feel the tenderness of his skin and the ache growing beneath it. Gasping on nothing he presses at the spot, feeling it throb harder, anchoring him to the pain, the reality, the sensation he can feel because at least it’s real and here and he can’t be falling if he’s hit something.

It’s still dark outside, barely a few hours have passed and his body feels exhausted, but his head feels full of fear and that wakes him up enough to move. Bdubs can feel himself panting as he crawls out from beneath the bed, pillow still clutched to his chest as he stands on shaky feet. The floor is real beneath him; wooden planks creak beneath his weight. He can smell the flowers he'd placed around the room. He can hear his heartbeat throbbing in his ears as he just tries to calm down and focus on the here and now. The tears on his cheeks get wiped away and ignored as soon as possible.

Shivering a little Bdubs makes his choice. Sleep isn’t going to work. Even all the reassurance and safety of his little hidey-hole didn’t help stop his stupid subconscious from spewing out nightmares when he’s at his most vulnerable. He hated it. Even if it wasn’t real, it didn’t mean it didn’t feel real when it was happening, and God he never wants to go through it again if he can help it. He would give anything to never fall again.

He won’t allow it to happen again.

Grabbing every shulker box he can reach he begins filling them to the brim with supplies. Anything and everything he can possibly think of to build helps him focus. Trees, paths, rock faces, rivers, additions to the castle, anything and everything will be something to work on. Something he can touch and feel and make real.

Focusing on the builds helps. The rough bark of the wood tears at his palms. The grit in the gravel sticks in his shoes. The water soaks the sleeves of his top. Every sensation helps ground him. It’s easier like this, when the builds begin to take over him, letting him lose himself in mindless placement and continuous progress. Everything else around himself fades away. He knows to eat every so often to keep his strength up, but other than that there is no need to think about anything else.

Certainly not the continuous turning of the day and night cycle around himself.

“Wow. Mr BdoubleO you have outdone yourself!” He startles. Focus snapping from the build and instead being made aware of what else is going on around him. It’s light, daytime, the mountain towers up around him, and the gravel in his hand digs into his palm. And Scar is here.

Grinning to his friend he swallows a few times before even attempting to speak. It’s been a few days since he’d spoken to anyone at all, but despite that the words still catch a little in his throat. “Th-thank you. Pretty impressive huh?” Gesturing towards everything he does feel a swell of pride at the amount he’s managed to get done.

Scar nods, seeming genuinely impressed with his handiwork and that brings a spark of joy to his chest. “Is this what you’ve been so busy with these past few days?” The mayor asks.

Days? “Uh I guess so.” Rubbing over the back of his head he can feel his hair is sticking up in each and every direction possible. It’s still a little gritty with concrete powder. “Didn’t think it had been that long really.” He mumbles, wondering exactly how many times he’d missed the sunset and sunrise.

“Well the grind has been worth it, this looks amazing.” He loves the way Scar says that, and he knows the man doesn’t give praise easily. It’s all worth it if it’s amazing. “But aside from getting to see your wondrous new landscape, I actually came over to see if you remembered our little meeting we had planned?”

Oh crap. “Yes of course!” If his enthusiasm seems forced Scar doesn’t mention it and for that he’s grateful. “Of course I remember our meeting, we’re going to plan out Aque Town’s shops and make a start right? I’ll be sure to be there with lots of ideas.”

“Bdubs it was this morning.” Scar chuckles, the smile on his face falling in size until he continues with a softer tone. “I messaged you a few times but you didn’t reply.”

Oh double crap.

His grin falls. His communicator had become nothing more than background beeping and buzzing the past few days. He hadn’t even remembered something as important as the meeting. That wasn’t right. He was supposed to be Scar’s right hand man, able to be reliable and capable, yet he’d managed to get so focussed on his own plans that he’d completely forgotten about it all. Tugging on his hair a little he can’t help the frustration from showing in his voice. “Shoot. I’m sorry I must’ve lost track of time-“

Scar chuckles, shaking his head and looking as if it’s not a big deal and Bdubs is so glad he hasn’t disappointed him too much. “Don’t apologise, I know what it’s like to get caught up in a super fast build mode, I’ve done it myself a few times.” Scar smiles warmly, a hand on his shoulder for a moment to let him know there truly is no hard feelings. It’s real, warm, solid and he appreciates it so much.

It has just been so easy to lose himself here. To only have to concentrate on building and forget everything else that keeps niggling on the back of his mind. His muscles ache, there is a heaviness to his eyes that he’s been ignoring, and for a moment he truly does feel a wave of exhaustion hit him. Maybe he does need to attempt sleep again. But there is still that underlying fear lurking inside of him, one that even Scar’s praise and care can’t get rid of.

What if he falls again?

“Here.” A map is handed to him, roughly drawn but clearly a mix of blueprints scrawled across the parchment. “Cub and I went through the layout and have it all planned out. These are the spots for our shops to go, as well as plenty of space for our fellow hermits to pick and choose from since the original island is getting bit crowded nowadays.” Scar tells him cheerily, finger waving over certain spots on the map, pointing out where he wants his ideas to become reality.

Bdubs’ fingers clench a little on the map as he gazes at it, and suddenly everything else is gone. No worries. No exhaustion. Just a tiny spark of jealousy beginning to ignite within his chest.

“You planned it all with Cub?” he asks. If his voice is a little strained he ignores it.

Scar doesn’t seem to notice, too enthralled with sharing his ideas, always so happy to be able to provide something new to the hermits. “Yes he had some very good input for how to save materials by backing each building onto each other to cut sightlines. While I focus on the department store he’s actually going to begin work on a creeper farm and TNT shop by the-“

“I’ll do it!” He barks out, the tiny spark growing stronger with each second. Burning in his chest and destroying anything he was worrying about before. Scar seems a little startled by his outburst, so he’s quick to wrap an arm around his shoulders and explain himself. “I mean really Cub is more of the enforcer right? He’s already got so much to do with making sure everyone’s keeping the road pass payments up to date, and I swear there have been more shops built and that diamond throne isn’t getting any bigger. In fact as campaign captain manager of the Mayor, it would be my pleasure to tackle the buildings. Think of it as an apology for missing the meeting this morning.”

Really it all makes more sense for him to do it. He’s the builder after all. It would be good for him to do it! Already ideas are sprawling through his head, colour pallets and materials that would work together, the placement of the stock, how to really make it stand out. With all those ideas there’s no room for tiredness. Or fear. And if it makes Scar see him in a better light compared to Cub well that’s just how it goes.

But Scar doesn’t seem to be so confident. The taller man has that look in his eyes, the look people get when he says he’s doing redstone near them. Concern. “Are you sure Bdubs? Maybe you should take a break from building for a bit? You look pretty tired.”

Shaking his head, maybe too many times to seem natural he grins to his friend. “No no! Me? No I’m fine.” Super fine. More than fine actually. Very fine. “In fact I’ll get started right now! I needed to go buy more materials from the shopping district anyway so really it’s no problem!” He’s talking too loud and too fast again. Thoughts too fast for his mouth as he fumbles for some rockets, his grin refuses to leave his face as he pulls away to leave, but he can still see that look of concern in Scar’s eyes. Even as he begins his flight to the shopping district.

It’s fine. Really this is great! He can focus on building the new shops, impressing Scar, and it even brings more things to the other hermits. Really he was just being so much more useful by taking this on. He’s glad he thought of it.

The water ripples beneath him as he flies, preferring to stay low rather than skimming the skies. Watching the fish and the squid beneath the waves he catches sight of himself, and maybe he can see why Scar looked a little worried about him.

His hair is everywhere, not the usual bed head he seems to constantly have, but completely in disarray. The bandana sits crooked over his brow. But the worst part is his eyes. The bags beneath them are almost black, likes he’s rubbed soot covered hands beneath his eyes to look like a panda. Red streaks are in his eyes themselves, betraying just how exhausted he really is. In general he looks a mess, and not a controlled mess that he usually likes to present. Jeans marked with dirt, grass stains on his knees. His sweater is askew, one sleeve up to his elbow, the other falling over his fingers, and the bottom half tucked in on one side. He looks a wreck.

Landing at the edge of the mooshroom island he rubs the back of his neck a little, sitting on the edge and looking out over the sea. He’s fine really; a few continuous days of crafting never killed anyone. Scar didn’t need to worry about him; he had it all under control. He was the one deciding to do this, so it was fine! Completely in his control.

All he had to do was focus. Plan out his new builds in his head, and work on making them a reality. The waves bob gently in his gaze. Soothing. Calming. It would be nice to get to see the bay from his new build. Watching out over the water towards Tango’s Toon Towers. Seeing the way the water catches the sunlight. How the waves are repetitive as they roll over into white foam. It’s nice.

Until he’s falling.

His back hits the ground with a thud and he’s jumping to his feet, panting a little as he curses his body for betraying him. This is just proof he needs to stay busy, sitting and letting his eyes slide shut because of the calm ocean was certainly not helping anybody. Especially not when one little fall backwards to the ground could become so much worse.

Materials. Start with materials. Can’t build if you don’t have materials and maybe new ones would help keep his mind occupied and his body from giving in again. Trudging to the barge he keeps his focus on the here and now, one step at a time, no time to rest. Got to keep building.

His rush of adrenaline from falling backwards seems to be wearing off, and now he can feel the affect it’s all having on him. Of all the things his knees ache. Well actually his whole body aches, but for some reason his knees feel like they are about ready to give at any moment. But he can’t rest them, if he sits like before it could happen again and that’s not an option.

Materials. Right.

Rubbing at his eyes he tries to get them to focus. It’s simple enough, the writing is right there. Embossed onto the emerald is the amount needed to purchase the stacks of bricks, but for some reason it’s so damned hard to read it. Letters shift in and out of focus, and his fogged up brain can’t make head nor tail of it. Four per stack? Maybe? How many stacks does he need? Eight? So that would be eight by four right? Math was never his strength, but right now all the thought of working it all out seems far too difficult when his body is aching all over. Growling in frustration Bdubs shoves some diamonds in the chest and takes his bricks, too busy trying to visualise his new builds to really worry about what he’s spending.

Scar wouldn’t mind anyway, so long as things look good it doesn’t matter what the cost is. The diamond trees lining main street were proof of that.

He could do this. He just needed to get back into the headspace of building. If he’s building he can’t think about how his body just wants to give in and lay down. Or how there’s a headache beginning behind his eyes that won’t go away. It doesn’t help that he sometimes has to blink twice to see because sometimes things are a little foggy to him. It’s fine. He’s fine.

Bricks. Sandstone. Concrete. Wooden accents. He’s good at building. Getting everything perfect from every angle. Working out where details are needed and where they’re not. It’s easy to build a blank cube, but to really bring a build to life? He excels at that. It comes naturally to him, and soon enough it’s easy again.

Grit gets under his nails, his knees are now smeared with dirt from where he’s been kneeling with holes in his jeans, the smell of gunpowder fills his nose where he’s been crafting TNT. It’s all so encompassing and real. Covering him in a sense of reality he can control. Sure it’s hard work, but it’s oh so worth it when he’s getting to spend time adding details to it all. A banner here. Some fences there. Flowers in the windowsills.

The phantoms shriek outside, high up in the air and angry at him, but that’s why he’s got an interior to do now. He hates phantoms. Really they terrify him, but they can be controlled just like everything else. Stay inside, focus on interiors and he knows he will be fine. They’re just mobs, just stupid, scary mobs, but they’re real and therefore he can control them. Right now he needs to work on the countertops and make sure it all makes sense for his customers to find it all easily.

A bow twangs, an arrow flies, and Bdubs glances up at the sounds followed by the death gasp of a phantom or two from outside. Kneeling behind the counter he can see the door swing open, before being firmly shut behind his visitor, to keep the other night terrors away.

“Hey Bdubs!”

He has to blink twice to get the fuzzy red mass to even resemble his friend. “Oh hi Grian.”

“Nice new shop coming along here.”

Smiling at the praise he nods, flexing his aching hands before continuing to stock up the barrels he’s kneeling by. “Yeah wanna buy some TNT?”

Grian scoffs, hopping to sit up on the countertop beside him, legs dangling off the edge and swinging playfully. “Oh please, you know the barge has got plenty of its own stock.” The other man tells him, a cheeky smile on his face as he leans back on his hands, watching Bdubs work. “Speaking of the barge, I saw you bought a lot of your materials there earlier. You wouldn’t happen to have the rest of the diamonds you owe me for it all would you?”

Bdubs looks up at that, a frown caught between his brows as the words take a moment to sink in. “Huh?”

“You gave yourself a bit of a discount Bdubs.” For what it’s worth Grian doesn’t look angry, just bemused by the whole situation, still smiling sweetly and swinging his feet. “Took ten stacks and only paid for eight.”

He’s mortified. His stomach drops and he can feel a flush of shame creeping up over his cheeks. Reaching up Bdubs rubs over his face, trying to get the creeping tiredness to leave his eyes. “Oh gosh I’m so sorry.” He mumbles. “That was totally unintentional, I’m not a thief.” Guilt eats away at his insides. Even if it wasn’t on purpose it doesn’t mean he didn’t do it. He feels like an idiot for making such a simple mistake. Well no more. He just needed to focus better. Taking out his valuables chest he sets it down beside himself, gesturing for Grain to help himself. “Here.”

Grian hops down from the counter top, but the small smile seems to be faltering as he leans on the available valuables chest. “Bdubs are you okay?” He can feel the other man’s eyes on him, so he focuses on restocking, on his knees digging into the floor, on the new determination he has not to make mistakes.

“Yeah I’m fine,” Of course he’s fine, completely fine. No more mistakes. He just needs to keep going, keep his focus and keep building because it’s better this way. Better than giving in and falling again and again. A shiver runs through Bdubs’ body, but he ignores it. “Just take your diamonds from there.”

There’s a pause, one silent and obvious enough to make him look up. Grian is leaning on the chest, chin propped on one hand as the other points down to the storage box. “This is an ender chest Bdubs, I can’t access your diamonds from here, you need to get them for me.”

The laugh Bdubs lets out is too loud, too awkward and so full of frustration it hurts.

He does give Grian his diamonds, plus a few extra as apology, and maybe to make him leave quicker and stop looking at him like that. Once he’s alone he sighs, feeling every bit of energy drain from himself. He’s a fool. A fool who’s managing to bring his own problems down on the other hermits. If not sleeping affects him then that’s one thing, but to have it now affect the others? Underpaying Grian, forgetting Scar’s meeting, and void knows what else he probably hasn’t even realised yet. That’s just not fair.

The sun is rising. A new day. His communicator buzzes and beeps on his wrist, but he really can’t afford to sit and go through the messages. He has a feeling if he does he will lose his focus and fall asleep again. Instead he resolves to work even harder, and to not let any of the other hermits down with his inability to do things right.

Craft. Place. Build. Craft. Place. Build. He’s good at finding a rhythm. It’s easy to do. Easy to fall back into the safety of creating something from scratch and just focus on the here and now. Bricks slot easily beside each other. Sandstone reflects the light when it’s polished beautifully. He aches all over. Feeling the burn in his muscles and the sweat on the back of his neck, but it’s working. He’s still going. Still here and now and moving. Can’t fall asleep if you’re still moving.

It’s easier like this. Left to his own devices he can still be productive and useful. Creating a wonderful new shop and mob farm for the hermits to enjoy, bringing new wonder and things to see in the shopping district. He’s being useful. He is.

Glancing up he can still see how much more work he’s got to do. Good. Work is good. Work is manageable. Already he can begin planning for the next few days of things to keep himself occupied. And just to be on the safe side he could even make sure he grinds out materials instead of buying them, more things to do, and no risk of underpayment. Perfect. He likes a plan.

The sound of a trident hitting the brickwork close beside him makes him startle, jerking away from the noise instantly, yet unable to get away and stumbling to the ground. For a second he’s flummoxed as to what the hell caused him to fall and yet be unable to move away, brain fuzzy and trying to work through a fog of flight, fight and confusion. Glancing up he sees the issue, and immediately growls in annoyance.

It’s a favourite game of Doc’s to pin him by his sweater to the nearest wall with his trident.

Grumbling in annoyance he grabs hold of the weapon and begins trying to yank it free, hating that there is now a hole in this sweater as well. His aching muscles don’t want to work as well as usual, and he finds himself still pinned to the wall as the culprit strides up to him with a chuckle.

“What was that for?” Bdubs huffs out, not exactly enjoying the sudden change to his plans.

Doc shrugs easily, yanking free the trident before storing it away. “Testing you were still alive.” The creeper hybrid looks over him, both normal and cybernetic eyes taking in his dishevelled appearance. He does not appreciate it. Not one bit.

“You could have just asked!” Bdubs growls, shoving aside the other hermit to get to his chests. He needs to focus. Needs to organise himself and make a mental note of the materials he needs to grind out.

“Tried that, you’ve not answered your communicator in days. People are worried about you man.” The underlying tone of concern is there and he has no time for it.

He needs Doc to leave him alone. He’s better off just focusing on building and not bothering the other hermits. Can’t make a mistake and ruin someone else’s day if he’s not a part of it. Rubbing at his eyes he tries to ignore the throbbing at the back of his head and lets out a sigh. “What do you want?”

Turning to face Doc he can see the other hermit hasn’t stopped looking over him, and if he didn’t know any better he’d say Doc even looks a little worried. But that must just be his blurry vision making things more difficult than it has to be. The only frowns Doc ever has in his presence are ones of annoyance, not concern.

“I can’t just come to annoy you anymore?” Another shrug. Another look. He can’t gather the energy for one of their fights right now, and he really doesn’t need another distraction.

Shaking his head he tries to act his usual bouncy self, trying to make Doc see he’s fine. “I’m used to the peace and quiet nowadays. Look how much I can get done without you distracting me all the time.” Ticking it all off on his aching fingers. “A village, a castle, a mountain, shops, I mean it’s amazing what I can get done without you constantly getting on my nerves.” He laughs, but it feels forced, sounds forced and he can see Doc’s not buying it.

“And without sleeping too.” Comes a voice from behind himself that he really hadn’t wanted to hear.

Xisuma. He doesn’t even turn around to face the admin, he has a feeling he knows the look he’d have behind the visor of his helmet. The I’m-not-mad-I’m-just-disappointed look he knows so well. He feels himself shrink down a little, shoulders up round his ears as the guilt creeps over him. So much for not being a bother to the other hermits.

“You’ve not been sleeping?” Now Doc’s frown is definitely there, and there’s a small growl in his voice that Bdubs knows only happens when he’s frustrated.

Feigning nonchalance he shrugs, moving back to his chests and begins packing them with things from his inventory. “What’s it to you?” As if it’s really no big deal, nothing to worry about. He’s fine.

“You know the alerts for when everyone sleeps aren’t just for fun Bdubs. They’re also there for me as an admin to check everyone is taking care of themselves.” Oh void he really doesn’t want a lecture on hermitcraft 101. He nods, not turning to face the pair of them as he focuses on his materials instead. Much easier to deal with blocks than people.

“Are you sure the code isn’t glitched again?” Doc asks when he doesn’t respond. “I mean I’m sure the sleep master himself must have been sleeping.” That makes him flinch a little in guilt, but it’s not like he has any other choice. No. Not thinking about it, just packing away. Let them chat to each other and maybe he could just slip away to go grind some more.

He can hear the beeps of Xisuma hitting his communicator on his wrist, bringing up the chat no doubt and the logs for each and every hermit under his care on the server. Scrolling through and showing Doc proof of Bdubs’ solution to his problems. “I thought that too but everyone else has checked in the past two nights. Code is working fine which means only one thing.”

The pause feels heavy between the three of them, and Bdubs knows he’s supposed to be the one filling it with an explanation. But he doesn’t want to tell them. How could he possibly explain just what happens to him every single night? And why bring that burden on other hermits when he’s already found a way to fix it? That wouldn’t be fair at all. No he can handle this himself.

Picking up his shulker boxes he stores them away, planning out a trip to the mesa for more supplies. Not only would it give him more of a grind to focus on, but it would be far away from the hub of their world, far enough away that he couldn’t bother anyone else with his problems. An excellent plan if he did say so himself. It’s not that he’s avoiding looking at them; he’s just focusing on getting his elytra strapped on properly is all.

A hand falls on his shoulder, gloved, Xisuma, gentle and reassuring but with a firmness that he knows means he’s not going anywhere just yet. “Bdubs? What’s going on my friend?” Void he’s using the voice everyone’s labelled the ‘dadmin’ voice. The one that makes him duck his head because he doesn’t have the clarity to deal with this right now. “The other hermits said you’ve been a bit scatter brained lately. You must be tired.”

Exhausted actually, but there’s no time for that. If he stops long enough then it’ll all kick in and he’ll really feel it. He’s done so well to just keep going. Working through the aches and fuzziness is helping and he can’t stop now. He’s worried if he stops he’ll sleep and if he sleeps he’ll-

“I’m fine!” He laughs out, smile on his face as he turns to look at the pair of them. Trying to shake away their concern as best he can. “There’s nothing wrong with me. Just pulling a few all nighters is all.” Gesturing to the new builds beside them he does feel a sense of pride over what he’s managed to accomplish. “You know how it is, sometimes you just wanna get stuff done.” And he’s gotten so much done, really they should be proud too.

Doc doesn’t seem fooled at all. The frown is still there, his arms are folded and that growl is still present in his voice when he speaks. “But you always sleep. It’s the most annoying thing about you.”

“A few all nighters?” Xisuma points to his communicator read out, providing evidence as if the heaviness of his body isn’t enough. “Bdubs it’s been almost a week since you last checked in.”

“So what?” He chuckles, like it’s no big deal. Because it isn’t a big deal. Or it wouldn’t have to be a big deal if they’d stop trying to make it one. “It’s not like I’m the only one to do it. Everyone sometimes gets a little stuck into their work and grinds it out.” Bdubs points out.

“But a week?” The growl is definitely there in Doc’s voice.

They’re not buying it, and he hates it. He doesn’t want to be here anymore, he wants to go to where he can just focus on the simplicity of mining, and ignore everything he’s trying to forget. The headache is throbbing, his palms are sore, his whole body feels like one giant ache and if he doesn’t distract himself soon he’s going to give in to it all, he just knows it.

They wouldn’t understand anyway. He’d just be a problem. And he’d found a solution anyway so they really didn’t need to be here stalling him like this. He’s just had enough; he just needs to get out of here so he can go back to focussing on everything not inside his head. Rubbing at his eyes he can feel whatever patience he has left snap. Shoving at Doc a little he’s not pleased when it makes himself stumble, but it gets the point across.

“Oh like you can talk Mr goat! Grind. Optimise. Automate… “ His foggy brain flails a little. “Something that begins with T. All you ever do is spend hours upon hours tinkering with your little redstone contraptions that help nobody, and you certainly don’t sleep then!” He points out, gesturing to the taller hermit with a glare. “What about him? How come you’re picking on me Xisuma?”

This is easy, this is known. Get angry. Get Doc all riled up. They fight and then they go their separate ways for another day.

“That’s different, you know Doc is part mob and part cybernetic.” It doesn’t seem to work on Xisuma though, he’s still the ever calm and controlled admin.

Rolling his eyes a little he huffs, rubbing at them a little to try and stop the ache there. Why couldn’t they see he knows what he’s doing? He just needs to be left alone to work, to focus and fix everything. “Oh so it’s pick on the boring, stupid, useless, weak human time is it? I see how it is. Picking on the little guy because you think he can’t take care of himself.” He mutters.

“It’s not like that at all Bdubs and you know it.” Xisuma says, reaching out a hand to try and placate him. He shakes it off.

“And you clearly aren’t taking care of yourself.” Doc points out, and Bdubs can’t even begin to explain how little they know.

“I can take care of myself just fine!” He yells. Because he is taking care of himself. It’s just not the way they want him to and that’s their problem not his. They would never understand. “I’m fine! I’m just busy!” Because busy is better. Busy is safer and full of real things he can touch and mine and feel. Busy is better than feeling nothing for the thousandth time because his stupid fears keep controlling him when he’s asleep. Stepping back he hates that they don’t even look mad. Just worried. “A-and maybe if you two would stop bugging me I’d be getting more done and could actually get something finished today!”

It takes three rockets to get his elytra to catch the air, nowhere near the smooth and graceful exit he’d been hoping to make, but an exit nonetheless. Stupid Doc. Stupid Xisuma. Thinking they can tell him what he needs. He’s an adult! He can take care of himself just fine, and he doesn’t need any overbearing admins or nuisance neighbours to come along and-

The roof of the barge clips him hard, making him wheeze as he tries to right himself in the air. He’s fine. Just wasn’t paying attention is all, certainly didn’t completely forget his bearings. He’s fine. He’s fine.

Behind him comes the gentle fizzling sound of his elytra losing the last of its durability, turning into nothing more than dust behind him. Strangely enough, Bdubs doesn’t panic. He doesn’t panic when all his momentum is gone. He doesn’t panic when gravity begins to take its hold over him. He doesn’t panic when he’s dropping down, facing upwards and watching the clouds above him. He doesn’t panic as his hands flail for purchase on something…anything. Everything is blurry. Moving too fast, too sudden around himself. There is nothing he can do. It feels like years but he knows it can’t have been more than a few seconds. He can’t breathe. There is no noise as the ground rushes up to meet him. And he falls.

Again.

_BdoubleO100 hit the ground too hard._

Now the panic sets in.

He can’t breathe. It’s all consuming. He can’t get enough air. The bed sheets are wrapped around him, constricting him, but it’s not enough. It’s too open in here. It’s not enough and he can’t do this anymore. His head is throbbing with an ache behind his eyes, his lungs are burning because the air is too thin, his hands are shaking, his vision is blurry and it’s all too much and not enough at the same time.

Scrabbling off of the bed Bdubs dives beneath it, trying to find something, anything that will help stave off the overwhelming fear that burns through his veins. The wall is firm against his back, the underside of the bed presses in from above him, the floor is strong and unmoving; but it doesn’t help. The air is thicker but he still can’t breathe, he can’t get enough in his lungs, it’s too tight inside his body but not tight enough around it and he can’t breathe.

It hurts. Oh void it hurts. He doesn’t know how to stop it.

He’s been trying to stop it for so long and now everything has built up and he thinks it’s killing him. It’s actually going to kill him. Then he will respawn and it will happen again and again and again and again…

“Quite an exit you made there.”

Wheezing loudly he didn’t think more fear could cloud his head, but it does. It’s like a thick fog working its way through him, clouding behind his tired eyes, taking his breath from his lungs, making him feel exposed and exhausted, and lost, and cold, and shaking and so damned scared. His mind isn’t working. Fingers tug the sheets tighter around himself, yet yank at his sweater to try and loosen his collar. Everything is so wrong and he hates it and can’t escape it and every time he tries it fails again and again and again…

“Xisuma sent me to check on you. I’ve got all your things.”

Everything is dark but he swears his eyes are open, but he doesn’t know anymore because everything is too much. His body is trembling. Each breath is shaking through him, rattling his head, making it throb more as he loses more and more sense of what is here and now because he knows what is coming for him. No air. No touch. No sound. Just falling again and again and again...

“Bdubs?”

Maybe this is his new punishment. Because falling wasn’t awful enough, now he has to wait and choke on nothing until he suffocates and then respawns and then falls before it all happens again. The wall isn’t hard enough. The floor isn’t firm enough. Things are not enough. He doesn’t know how he’s going to survive this. He can’t. He can’t go through another loop with no one to save him but luck. Everything is too much in his head and he can’t focus, or breathe, or save himself, or stop this, because it’s going to happen again and again and again…

Pressure.

A band of cool iron wraps around his wrist, pinching, holding, grounding him, making him shudder and take in a breath he didn’t know was available. It remains there. A steady, constant pressure on his wrist, he can feel it even if his head is too foggy to let him see it. He clings to it, mentally and physically. Reaching out shaking fingers he covers the metal, as his mind tries to focus on the fact that if there is something then he can’t be falling through nothing. Can’t be falling if something is here.

It helps. Though the air still catches in Bdubs’ throat it feels like it’s getting a little better. For a while all he can focus on is the pressure, the grip around his wrist that feels like a tether, holding him down like a safety line, stopping him from falling apart completely. It’s metal, cool at first but now warming beneath his own hand, real and holding him steady. It wriggles beneath his hand, just repositioning, and he works out it’s fingers, a hand, a metal hand.

Doc.

Another breath of air makes it way through his lips, beginning to blow away the fog that clouds his thoughts and vision. Doc is here. If Doc is here he can’t be falling. It wouldn’t make sense for Doc to be falling too. The fingers squeeze gently, a thumb rubs over his wrist, and slowly he begins to become more aware of his surroundings. Another breath, a blink, a shiver.

“That’s it, take your time.”

There is a buzzing in his ears that’s beginning to fade slowly, and as if he’s waking from a dream he begins to become more aware of his surroundings. Under the bed is dim, only Doc’s cybernetic eye casting a faint red glow in the darkness he’s hidden away in. His hand is tangled around Doc’s, which is in turn still holding onto his other wrist, keeping that firm yet reassuring grip. Taking another breath he finds this one easier, chasing away the dregs of panic still lingering and leaving him feeling utterly exhausted.

“Much better. Breathe Bdubs.” Doc says, voice so calm, so steady and so what he needs right now.

Closing his eyes for a second he does as he’s told, taking deep steady breaths as well as he can until things begin to feel more calm within himself. The turmoil of his thoughts fade away to the steady hum of exhaustion that’s been there for days. Bdubs can feel the trembling through his body give way to the ache of overworked muscles, and even though he’s just respawned he knows that can’t cure long-term issues immediately. He’s ignored himself for too long again and now the tiredness and overwhelming sense of shame washes over him.

When he opens his eyes to look over at Doc, he sees nothing but concern there. “Hi.” He mumbles, trying to give a small reassuring smile.

Doc smiles back, teeth too sharp, and really he knows most people would be afraid of the creeper hybrid if they saw his bared teeth, but he knows Doc, and Doc knows him. He trusts him. “Hi yourself. How’re you feeling?” Doc asks, and that is a question with far too many answers right now.

“Tired.” He settles for instead.

The fingers around his wrist squeeze gently, a reminder that he’s still there, still grounded, still safe. “I’ll bet. A week of no sleep?” Doc shifts, probably trying to get more comfortable, when he hits his head on the underside of the bed with a thunk. Normally Bdubs would laugh, and really it’s a laughing kind of situation. If he thought it was tight for him under the bed, it’s even worse for the bigger creeper hybrid. Doc’s only managed to wedge from his shoulders upwards under the bed, but that’s enough to see how ridiculous it is. “Can you come out from under here now? It’s a little cramped.”

That’s the point.

Still they work their way out together, Doc still holding onto his wrist as they slowly scoot out. Even if he feels able to cope for the moment, he still doesn’t want to be so out in the open, so they remain on the floor, backs against the bed, and Doc doesn’t seem to mind when he shoves himself up against his side. When the other hermit places his arm, his metal, heavy, solid and real arm, around his shoulders, Bdubs can’t help but let out a small sigh of relief.

For a moment they are silent together. Doc just letting him gather himself from a panic attack. He can’t say he’s not embarrassed, especially when he goes to rub his eyes and instead has to scrub at the tear tracks on his cheeks with his sleeve. But it’s Doc, and when it comes down to it, even if they bicker and fight, they’re friends, and maybe, just maybe he knows he needs one right now. Maybe he’s needed one for a while and just pretended he didn’t.

“What’s been going on man?” Doc asks him with his voice full of concern. “You’re not sleeping, and then I find you having a panic attack. That’s not the Bdubs I know.”

Honestly he doesn’t even know where to begin. How does he even begin to explain how things have come to this, when he can barely even function because he’s so damned exhausted? Closing his eyes for a moment he rests against Doc’s side, lets himself feel the heat, the firmness, and the realness of this moment. There is no real way to describe everything in his head, and how mixed and jumbled up everything is nowadays, so instead he tries to start at the beginning.

“I can’t sleep.”

Doc scoffs a little, and Bdubs is aware of how ridiculous it sounds coming from himself. The sleep master can’t sleep. Pathetic really. But true. Still the creeper hybrid doesn’t mock, and he’s grateful for that. He still feels too on display for it, raw and open like a wound. “Insomnia? That’s really not like you at all. We could maybe get some sleep potions for you-“

“No.” He cuts him off with a shake of his head. Hating that it makes the headache worse for a moment before he stops. “I mean; I can’t let myself sleep.”

Silence sits between them for a moment, and he can almost hear Doc trying to work out exactly what he means. Bdubs picks at his sleeves, tugging them over his fingers and fidgeting with the hem as he tries to get his fuzzy mind to focus now he’s not doing anything physical to distract it.

The arm across his shoulders tightens its hold, keeping him close, letting him feel heard. He appreciates the security of it all. “What happens when you sleep? It must be something bad if you want to avoid it.” In moments like this, Bdubs is so glad that Doc is smart enough to read between the lines and work things out when he can barely explain himself.

His body aches, muscles sore and stiff from overwork, and after the panic attack he feels frazzled, like the end of an exposed wire. And here he was, trying his best to explain just why it’s all happened. Dropping his head to Doc’s shoulder he sighs a little, trying to think of just how to piece together every little thought and feeling and fear from the past week into something that can be understood by someone not going through it. He’s going to sound crazy. Maybe he is. But Doc is still here, and still willing to listen.

“I fall.” He trembles at the thought, curling his fingers into his sleeves, focussing on the soft fabric there, on the warmth of Doc’s side against his, on the heavy metal arm across his shoulders. “Every time I try to sleep, I have nightmares that I’m falling.” Closing his eyes he takes a breath, but he daren’t leave them closed for too long. “Again.”

There is a pause, a moment before the realisation kicks in, and he knows Doc remembers what happened to him after the jungle didn’t want to let him go. “Oh.”

“I know it’s stupid.” He blurts out, shame and exhaustion creeping over him in a wave. “I know it’s childish and pathetic, and not sleeping is bad for me, but I don’t know how to fix it! I know it’s not real, but when I’m there it is real.” Too real. “It feels real. It feels just like it did before. I feel like I’m back there and I don’t know if it’s going to end this time, or if I’m just going to keep falling again and again and again-“

He’s cut off when he’s yanked into a hug. It’s awkward, he’s half in Doc’s lap with his arms pinned between them so he can’t reciprocate, but it feels perfect. Bdubs’ face is pressed into Doc’s neck, able to feel the heat of another body, his chest echoes the thrum of another’s heartbeat and he sighs happily because it’s all so real. Doc’s fingers weave into his hair, holding him steady, just holding him there and though he doesn’t speak, the hug says everything they’ve already said before about that incident.

_I’m sorry. I wish I could have saved you. I didn’t want to leave you. We didn’t know. I never wanted it to happen. We couldn’t find a way to stop you. It was a glitch._

But glitch or not, it was real. It happened. And it was awful. Blind luck had saved him last time, but in the nightmares it doesn’t feel like luck is ever coming. It’s just never ending, and he has no way to stop it. Doc smells of redstone and metal, of hard work and strength, of someone who always solves problems. He finds himself hoping he can do it again.

Doc pulls back, but they don’t move apart. He remains pressed up against the other hermit, needing the pressure, the safety of another person being there with him. His foggy mind is trying to drag him to sleep again, but the waves of fear lap at his consciousness, making him need the reassurance that he’s not about to slip into nothingness. But the exhaustion is there, and he knows, he just knows he can’t stop it forever.

“But you need to sleep.” Doc’s voice reverberates through his chest, creating a humming sensation through Bdubs’ cheek when he speaks. “I understand why you haven’t been, it must be terrifying to go through that again. But this isn’t the answer man. You should have told us. You can’t go on like this.”

He hums a little in acknowledgement. Because really he knows he should have told someone. And he knows he cannot continue on the path he’s been stumbling down. Already the thought of moving at all is too much. Every limb feels heavy, his head is aching something chronic, and his eyes are so hazy he doubts he’d even be able to manage a step without falling over. If he continues it would just be more mistakes, more pain, more dragging it out with no real solution to the problem that haunts him.

“I’ve tried.” He mutters into Doc’s chest, body slumping down a little and not caring if Doc is all that’s holding him upright anymore. “I really have. But every time I close my eyes it’s the same thing. Nothing. No air. No touch. No feelings except panic.” He shudders, voice slurring with exhaustion as he tries desperately to explain it all to someone else. “That’s the worst part, there’s nothing you can do when you’re falling. Nothing tangible. Nothing real. That’s why building helps. It’s real. I can touch it, feel it, there is something there and real and I can’t be falling if I can do that.”

Maybe it was stupid, but it had worked. His silly coping mechanism of using touch to reassure himself had kept him sane the past few days. The lack of sleep had battled with it at all points, but at least he hadn’t felt scared. Not until he’d accidentally fallen anyway.

Doc’s grip tightens a little around him. “Touch helps?”

He nods with a sigh, enjoying the extra pressure. “When I’ve tried to sleep I went under the bed.” He mumbles, unaware of when his eyes had slipped shut, but finding it hard to fight them back open. “It’s smaller. Tighter. There’s the pressure from the walls and I thought it would be enough. I only got a few hours before it happened again.”

A hum beneath him, then more vibrations as Doc speaks. “Maybe more pressure would help you sleep for longer and get some actual rest?”

Shrugging at the suggestion he gives a small laugh. “I don’t know how to get more pressure without suffocating in sand or gravel.” And that experience isn’t much more fun than falling repeatedly.

The other hermit shifts beneath him, moving him back into a less awkward position, even if Bdubs makes no effort to help whatsoever, still sprawled over his lap with his head on the other hermit’s shoulder. “What about me?” Doc asks.

It feels like he’s missed a step. Or maybe his brain has just given up making any kind of logical conclusions altogether as the fog rolled in completely. “Huh?”

“I’m bigger than you.”

Blearily he opens one eye, trying to glare, failing spectacularly. “Not the time for short jokes Doc.”

That gets a chuckle, a grin, back onto known ground between them. “No, I mean maybe I can help. I’m bigger than you, I’m pretty heavy with my cybernetics, maybe that would be enough?” Doc explains.

Maybe. He has to admit he’s felt pretty safe being pressed up against Doc the last few minutes. But he’s so used to dealing with it all by himself. There is a hint of shame about it all that still echoes through him, he hates that he’s struggling with nightmares like a child. But it’s Doc. Doc knows him. As much as they tease and fight, when it comes to something like this he knows Doc wouldn’t laugh. The fact he’s talked him through a panic attack proves that. Really he knows he doesn’t have much choice but to try. He’s completely exhausted, with aching muscles and no more will to continue as he has been. He wants to rest. He wants to sleep. He just wants not to fall.

“Even if it doesn’t work, I’ll be here to help you if you get woken up.” Doc reassures him, and really it’s the better option for him right now. Humming a little in agreement he tries to lift his heavy head, tries to get his limbs to listen and move. Every part of him feels like it’s lined with lead, and he’s so grateful when Doc just lifts him with a chuckle, barely any effort needed to get him on top of the bed.

The mattress feels like heaven, soft and like a cloud beneath him. Sure the firmness of the floor helped, but it was nothing compared to actually lying on a bed. Bdubs makes contented mumbles to himself as he buries himself down, on his stomach and practically smothering himself in the pillow beneath him. He can feel the shift when Doc settles behind him, the pair of them really too big for a single bed, but it’s what he needs right now.

Doc presses against his back, lying half over him like the heaviest blanket in the world. His metal arm covers him the most, over his ribs, over his arm, cold and heavy and real. He can feel Doc’s breath on the back of his neck, alive, steady, warm and constant. It makes him shiver happily. There is still the underlying niggle of fear, but it feels muted, drowned out, squashed out by the heavy presence of Doc.

When he breathes it takes effort, but not because there is no air, but because things are tight, smothered, real and reminding him that he’s not alone. All his limbs feel weighted, sunken into the bed beneath him and he doesn’t think he could move if someone paid him. Half of his body is pinned beneath Doc, his heavy weight warming him, sating the need for pressure, giving him a sense of security he’s been needing. There is no nothingness here. He’s warm, he’s pinned, he’s safe and it’s all so real all over his body.

“Not too much?” Doc’s voice is low, warm and rich, and he swears he must be hallucinating with exhaustion because he thinks he hears a purr between the words.

It takes an enormous amount of effort to shake his head slightly, not even bothering to lift it from the pillow. He gives a hum of happiness, to let Doc know he’s more than fine with how things are. A part of him knows he should talk, should tell Doc how grateful he is, how it’s helping, how he knows he’s using all of Doc’s time here instead of letting him work. But he can’t right now. Words are far too hard to even think of. Instead he pushes back the slightest bit, just enough to feel the pressure when Doc presses down on him again, crushing him in the most perfect and safest of ways.

Fingers card through his hair, his eyes are closed and he can feel the tendrils of sleep beginning to drag him down into the rest he so desperately needs. He’s not alone. He can’t be alone when he can feel the warmth of Doc behind him, over him, on him. He can’t fall if he’s not alone.

“Get some rest.” Doc purrs, definitely purrs against his back of his head. “If you fall, I’ll catch you.”

And he knows it’s true.

_BdoubleO100 went to sleep. Sweet dreams!_


End file.
